A New Dawn
by Thomas whylie
Summary: The moment to rally against evil has arrived and the age to be a hero is dawning once more. After an explosion destroys Numbani's museum of Overwatch, Winston and Lena take it upon themselves to bring those responsible to justice. But they need allies, and a certain angelic medical professor is the first one on the recruitment list. Its time to send out a call; Its time to recall!
1. In the Care of An Angle

**Disclaimer: I do not own Overwatch or any of its characters.**

* * *

Angela was walking through the corridors of Numbani's national hospital. Everything about the place was clean. The wall panels were white and shinning, gleaming like diamonds. The floor sparkled with polished perfection, spotless enough to host her reflection. It was like walking in a world of glass. There was a sterilised sent in the air, cool and regulated and an absolute pleasure to breathe in. Angela took a mouthful and waited a few seconds before breathing back out. All the space in here was another welcome aspect, she certainly noticed it now after the events of yesterday.

For yesterday this world of glass was filled to the brim.

The crowds were thick as an ocean, made up of healers and doctors whose skills were in demand by the injured and broken. Shoals of ambulances kept pulling up outside, patients kept flowing in through the reception like river rapids and the voices of the pleading were countless. Their cries flooded every hall and room and Angela remembered just wanting to answer them all, knowing full well she never could.

An energy pulse had gone off in the heart of the international museum of Overwatch. A detonation destructive enough to render the entire building to rubble. Angela was in England at the time of the disaster, tending to those who had been injured in the riots stirred up by Tekhartha's assassination. Now she was in Numbani, a utopia city, the one place she expected her skills as a field medic would never be needed.

How times change.

She made her way to the east wing and found Araujo Archibald, the chief surgeon waiting for her just outside the surgical ward. A man who was more interested in doing a job than doing good for people. Both his bionic arms were on display and had undergone a bronze paint job to match his skin color. His face was immaculate, clean of facial hair and his bald head almost shinned as bright as walls surrounding him. Wearing a sharp shirt and tie underneath a buttoned up lab coat, he was dressed more like a businessman than a doctor.

Angela on the other hand had just thrown a lab coat over her Valkyrie suite. A torn up coat at that, after having used a portion of it as a make-shift bandage for a patient in the field. Two slits had also been made in the back, allowing the wings of her suite to spread through. She'd feel underdressed if it wasn't for her nature of knowing better. There just never was any time since yesterday to change. Or sleep.

"Dr Archibald," Angela said, stretching out her hand.

The surgeon took her palm and shook it. "Dr Ziegler," he said. "Or should I call you Mercy?"

"Ziegler is fine. How is Oberon?"

"Who?"

"The patent I left with you yesterday? The one without medical records."

"Ah yes, the uninsured one you mean. He's lucky to be alive considering the state he was in."

"I guess you could say he had a _Guardian angel_ ," Angela grinned.

Archibald only frowned.

"Get it? Guardian angel. Because the suit I wear –"

"Yes, yes, Dr Ziegler you need not explain it. Let's at least try to stay on topic, shall we?"

"Very well," Angela said, thinking her joke was rather cleaver. "Is Oberon stable?"

"Indeed he is, out cold in the recovery ward now with an IV drip administering PA stimulants, as you requested."

"Excellent news," Angela smiled, "thank you doctor. I can get out of your hair now." She turned around and was about to leave when a cold metallic palm caught her wrist.

"We're not quite finished yet," said Archibald. "This patient of yours, I am sure you're aware that saving his life took a lot of expensive treatment. Surgical equipment, bionic rehabilitation, Nanorobotic stimuli etc. And considering the fact that he is not insured, would you mind telling me who's going to pay for all this?"

"I'll write you a check," Angela said, pulling her wrist free.

And with that she made for the west wing recovery ward where Oberon would be resting. A curious patient really. His background check had turned up blanker than Archibald's sense of humour. No family records, no known place of birth, not even a name. The man was a ghost. This is why Angela had come to calling him _Oberon_ for the time being, because his blood test came back as type O.

She thought it was clever...

Around the next corner she walked into the recovery ward. Beside every patient's room were small gatherings of their family or friends, little support groups here to comfort them through their recovery. Thankfully almost everyone was outside the museum when the blast occurred, their injuries sustained after tripping and falling as a result of panic induced running. Flesh wounds. Twisted ankles, broken ribs and minor concussions: all things Angela could fix in the field herself with modern technology. These people would all likely be discharged before long.

There was but one who suffered near fatal injuries, the one patient she found in the rubble of the museum itself; the only one without any visitors gathered outside visiting him. Angela allowed the automatic door to slide open and stepped into the room of that patient, Oberon's room.

The sight which greeted her was a bland and sorrowful one. A man around his mid-twenties was fast asleep on a medical bed, his head wrapped in the white fabric of a bandage with silver coloured strands of hair protruding through the seams. He was dressed in the standard white and lime green scrubs that are given to patients after rescue. Any and all cloths he was found in had to be cut off and thrown away so they wouldn't conceal any of his injuries. The covers were pulled up to his waist and a plastic tube ran from his neck up to an IV bag of PA drip hanging off a tall metal stand. The room itself was a small space, with an acute holovision projected on the wall and a little chair sitting in the corner. Apart from that, there was nothing left to look at. No get-well-soon cards or flowers or balloons or any kind of decoration to uplift the mood. That didn't sit well with Angela, the thought of having a patient who had nobody in the world that cared for him.

She took a moment to check Oberon's vitals and read over his medical report. His heart rate was balanced, blood pressure looked average, his breathing nominal, indeed: everything seemed ordinary. Except for brain activity, which was a little higher than it should have been. Though the real trouble was a matter of figuring out what to say when he woke up. Such is the way of being a doctor, Angela would have to once again be the bearer of bad news. She took one of Oberon's palms into hers, a cold metal palm that was once warm flesh before he went into surgery. What do you say to somebody who's had to have their arms amputated without consent? That's part of what PA stimulants are for. Programed Awareness, a solution of Nanobots which are used to temporarily alter a patient's way of thinking. They are used in bionic rehabilitation to reduce the risk of psychological trauma, as waking up with robotic limbs can be too much for the brain to cope with sometimes. Upon waking, Oberon will find himself aware of his new limbs but not totally aware, as if they were a word on the tip of his tongue. It would give his mind the proper amount of time to adapt.

Angela sighed, taking a seat by Oberon's bed. She turned on the holovision with its volume muted and subtitles on. A clear cut image of a news reporter blinked on with the rubble remains of Numbani's museum her backdrop. The headline said it all: _Overwatch vigilantes strike again._

"Continuing our coverage on the late restoration of Overwatch," the reporter said. "we turn now to the immense collateral damage caused as a result of their latest acts of so-called _heroism_. This giant pile of debris you can see behind me was once a museum devoted Overwatch, brought down by what witnesses are calling a sonic blast. Although the details are sketchy, sources have confirmed the two former Overwatch agents, Lena Oxton and Winston to have been present in the museum before the explosion occurred."

The screen changed to an image of the museum's interior. Artefacts from the old days of Overwatch and the Omnic crises decorated the scene. The centre piece of all these trinkets was the gauntlet of Doomfist, suspended from gravity in a tube of glass. There were three figures gathered around this object. The gorilla in white armour and the young women in orange leggings were people Angela recognised right away. The third one though, the one wearing a blue jacket scribed with giant red numbers which read '76': Angela couldn't say she recognised who that was.

The screen went back to the news reporter. Its subtitles read, "now a person known for his exploits as both the defender and DJ of Rio, Lucio Carreia dos Santos is here with his opinion on the matter."

The camera panned, bringing the man called Lucio into frame. He posed with his arms crossed over a green tank top and smiled at the camera. "Hey everyone," he waved.

"So Lucio, what do you make of this new Overwatch organisation and what are your thoughts on their involvement in yesterday's attack?"

"Well first off let's stop talking like they were the one's responsible for what happened. I am sure they were just trying to help."

"So your saying Overwatch shouldn't be blamed?"

"You know it!"

"Then who would you hold responsible for the devastation caused to the museum?"

"I don't like to point fingers. But if people are saying a sonic blast took the building down, then I can only think of one group who have made strides in that kind of weaponry. And they aren't Overwatch."

The reporter frowned, "are you suggesting then that maybe Vishark could be somehow involved?"

Lucio raised his arms to interlock his fingers behind his head, "you said it not me," his subtitles read.

Angela felt a half-smile forming on her lips. Her thoughts on all of this were conflicted. She respected Winston's decision of course. For indeed, the world had become a darker place since Overwatch was disbanded. But she couldn't ignore the consequences its restoration was bringing about, how the lives of innocents were getting caught in the crossfire. Innocents like Oberon.

She thought about changing the channel to something capable of taking her mind off everything. Only to be caught by surprise when her phone started vibrating from within her lab coat pocket. She took the device into her palm and checked the number. It was unknown which, given recent events, pointed to one thing.

"This better not be who I think it is," she answered, her smile gone.

The voice that replied confirmed her suspicions. It was a strong, low pitched voice abundant in all the qualities to be expected of a talking gorilla. "Hi again," said Winston, chuckling nervously as part of his way of breaking the ice. "I wanted to thank you for pitching in yesterday."

"No offence Winston," Angela said, "but don't you mean, _cleaning up after your mess_?"

"Yeah, I admit that last operation did get a little bit carried away."

"No, no, no: carried away is an understatement. A complete catastrophe is how I would describe it."

"Now I understand your mad —"

"Again Winston," Angela cut in. "understatement."

"— so I assume I can't convince you to reconsider coming back to Overwatch?"

"My answer is the same as yesterday. No. I have responsibilities to consider, patients to care for who, mind you, have quite drastically increased in number since you started knocking buildings down."

"It wasn't my people who brought that museum down," Winston said, his voice retreating into quietness. "And if we hadn't been there to prevent Doomfist from recovering his gauntlet then many more buildings would have followed."

Angela found herself sighing. She wasn't mad at Winston, well she was, but that didn't necessarily mean she _wanted_ to be. It was him after all who tipped her off about what happened at the museum before it hit the news. She may not have arrived in time to save Oberon if otherwise. Maybe she was being too harsh.

"Look," she said, "when Overwatch starts saving people instead of villain memorabilia, I'll reconsider. Until then I have work that needs doing. Bye."

Angela hang up the phone and buried her face in her palm. She felt torn, caught between her current responsibilities and all the good she could do through the resources of Overwatch. One of her former and oldest patients had contacted her on the matter. He said he planned on re-joining and suggested she do the same. His words were, "the world is changing again and they represent the side I deem worthiest of standing by."

Angela pondered for a few moments, enjoying the silence. Then at the door came a loud and aggressive knock. She got up and walked over to it. On the other side was Archibald and in his hand was a pistol, aimed itches away from Angela's face.

"Sorry about this," He said. "it's nothing personal."


	2. A Soldier and A Scientist

**A/N: Its Monday! The first day of a new week, a new 'dawn' if you will (I am so sorry). I was really surprised by all the support this story picked up, thank you all! Now lets get on with the story, enjoy. :D**

* * *

"Angela? Are you still there?" Winston pulled the phone away and squinted at the screen. Just to be sure he brought the device back up to his ear. "Hello?" He asked into silence. It took a few moments for him to realise the call had been dropped, which was embarrassing. This was his first time ever owning a phone. He was told it would make his life easier, ensured it would prove to be a helpful little tool. Lena described this model as the thing that's _'trending'_ and that he needed to _'get with the times'_ as it were. And now everyday since he bought the thing she had been sending text after text, cryptic messages, like 'BFF's 4 evs'. What on earth did 'BFF's' mean? He recalled asking and getting nothing back but a text reading, 'omg rofl XD,' which made even less sense.

Winston set the phone down on his desk and leaned back in the tire he was using as a chair. Monitors depictive of equations and worldwide news broadcasts decorated the walls before him like posters. The lights were dimmed, leaving space around him dark and devoid of distractions.

He scratched at an itch under his arm and adjusted his glasses. It appeared restoring Overwatch was going to take more than the simple press of a recall button.

His eyes scrolled up to the central monitor.

Displayed on it was imagery from yesterday after fighting broke out within the Numbani museum. The picture had been taken from Winston's perspective, captured through a miniaturised camera installed inside his glasses. A figure suited in white armor centred this image, somehow floating without means of propulsion or lift. Just floating. Winston had never seen anything like it before, an intriguing and terrifying thought. All he did know was that It was hostile, that it levelled an entire museum and unlike Doomfist, it didn't need a gauntlet. Lena had named it ' _the Whiteshadow'_ for reasons she had not yet explained

"Athena, how is the sample analysis coming along?"

Athena was an AI system Winston had developed a while back. She once operated as a mission handler for agents in the field, now she was left with nobody to assist but Winston himself.

"I am still running diagnostics," came her synthetic voice over the intercom.

The figure in white, this _'_ _Whiteshadow,'_ fought with arrow-shaped shards that broke off from its metal cloak. Like itself, these shards also floated without a clear picture of how or why. And with a brief hand gesture, the Whiteshadow could send streams of razor shards flying like kunai. Lena put it all down to telekinesis, another intriguing and terrifying thought.

"What have you turned up so far then?"

Before Winston appeared a 3D holographic image of what looked like a rather streamlined arrow head. Then arose a need to rub the lower region of his wrist guard. The puncture marks were still there.

"Scans thus far show the arrow to be composed of no known element," Athena said.

"Then what's it made of?" Winston frowned.

"I am detecting a crystalline structure of hardened photons."

"A hard light construct?"

"That is what my analyses has identified thus far."

"Then Vishark were involved," came a deep voice that wasn't Winston's.

It was full of military grit.

Over his shoulder, Winston saw a horizontal line of glowing crimson suspended in the dark. It lingered for a moment before coming forth into the light. Around this line formed a visor, and around this visor formed the body of a man who only ever called himself a soldier. Someone who had been the headline of worldwide news outlets for over a month now. The mysterious Soldier:76 in the flesh. Visor and all. Winston met him at the museum by chance, an ally intent on keeping Doomfist's gauntlet out of Talon's hands. After the museum was destroyed he offered to lend his services, returning to Watchpoint: Gibraltar with Winston and Lena. His reasoning was straight forward: to track down the ones responsible for the creation of Whiteshadow and bring them to justice. He seemed to have little interest in becoming a full member of Overwatch.

"You know they say its rude for people to eavesdrop," Winston said.

"Maybe for people," the soldier said as he approached. "But I'm not people." He stepped up to Winston's desk, his visor staring into the monitor's display. It was impossible to tell what his expression was, but one could tell by his voice that it was serious. "I knew those corporate scum bags had a hand in this."

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions," said Winston. "let's wait until Athena is through with her diagnostic first. After all, it was the Talon who were backing this thing up."

"Hardly," the soldier sniggered. "all they did was sit and watch. But I get your point. it could be stolen technology for all we know."

A few moments drifted by in silence.

"Who were you talking with earlier?" the soldier spoke up.

"On the phone? Just an old friend," Winston said, typing on his keyboard. He enlarged a digital newspaper with a front cover image of Angela. It depicted her at the site of Numbani's museum after yesterday's incident. With the gold wings of her Valkyrie suite deployed and spread wide, she floated above the rubble, her platinum hair and white armour glistening in the sun. In her embrace was the limp body of a man whose blooded arms were bent in unnatural directions. "This is her," Winston commented.

"Indeed it is," the soldier said.

"You know her?"

"I _recognise_ her."

"Angela is a superb medical scientist. It would be a pleasure to have her on board."

"But from what I heard, that doesn't sound like it's happening any time soon."

"Indeed, it seems that way. But I have a plan!"

The soldier crossed his arms, "a plan?"

"Athena, Lights!" said Winston and before long his workshop was lit up as the illumination of fluorescent celling lights came flickering on. It was a crowded room, ravaged in a hurricane of organised chaos. Notes upon notes and files upon files cluttered the desks with microscopes, plasma cutters and soldering irons scattered over the work surfaces. In the centre of the space was a large black board which Winston got up and lead the Soldier to. Aside from equations and trajectory calculations, there was a short list scribbled in font of inviting size.

It was titled 'Winston's-to-do list!'

"What is this?" The soldier asked.

"My plan of course." Winston cleared his throat before continuing. "Step one: move satellite drone onto launch platform. Step two: launch drone into synchronous orbit. Step three: triangulate global 'recall' signal. Step four: call all Overwatch agents back to active duty!"

"and _order more peanut butter,_ " the solider read aloud.

"Ah yes," said Winston, quite flustered. "I-I have no idea how that got there. Must be one of Lena's pranks I am sure."

The soldier turned to Winston, that red line running across his visor burning with an intense gaze. Whoever's eyes that were behind it felt like they were peering into the fibre of Winston's very being.

"What?" Winston caved in. "I like peanut butter."

The soldier retracted his gaze. "Me too," he said, looking back at the blackboard. "I thought you already recalled Overwatch?"

"I made a public announcement over the internet, yes. But that was just to grab the world's attention. Lena pointed out that we needed to build up _'_ _hype'_ as she called it, so when the _real_ recall beacon is activated—"

"it won't seem like a Talon ploy to get all the world's heroes in one place," the soldier cut in.

"Precisely," said Winston. He also believed a public announcement of his plans would help for the sake of image. The actions of vigilantes never go unnoticed, even more so when those vigilantes were once media icons. A reformed Overwatch had to go public, otherwise Winston may as well of been recalling Blackwatch.

"So where's this satellite?"

"Still being built," said Winston. "But I am expecting to have it finished for tomorrow. Good thing too, the conditions are forecasted to be perfect." He swung by his desk and grabbed his phone. "Now if you'd excuse me, I need to ask Lena what a _lolcat_ is. Be seeing you—"

"Seventy-six," the solider cut in.

"That's not exactly a name."

"Names are for people."

Winston didn't see any point in arguing, so he turned for the door and started walking. It wasn't until he had reached the far side of the room that Seventy-six spoke up.

"Hold up a second."

Winston held up. "Is something the matter?"

"I have been meaning to thank you."

"Whatever for?" Winston chuckled.

"For trusting me I suppose. I know I haven't been exactly _open_ about who I am."

"No thanks are necessary. If anything, it should be me thanking you."

"For what?"

"For helping out at the museum of course."

"It was nothing; I was just following a lead I picked up from somebody in Germany."

"Somebody on our side?"

"I don't think she has a side, considering that she sells information to Talon as well as myself."

"Interesting," Winston said on his way out. "Remind me to strike up a conversation with you about it another time."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Week one wall of fame:**

 **AnonymusPro**

 **Matsunaga**

 **Toa Aerrow**

 **acw28**

 **ivan12ak**

 **\- thank you so much for following.**

 **Epic Zealot Productions 2.0**

 **lordofthenight97**

 **\- thank you even more for favouriting.**

 **And in response to the awesome comment from Manuel Mosti X343: Don't worry, I am having too much fun to stop anytime soon ^_^**


	3. A heart Full of Mercy

**A/N: Another week, another chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

With a pistol inches from her face and a finger squeezing its trigger, Angela had mere seconds to react. Seconds in which old instincts she hoped were long dead sparked to life. Her hands moved like a lightning flash, reaching with the accuracy of a scalpel. She grabbed Archibald's mechanical wrist with one palm and his metal elbow with the other, then with a quick surge of force she turned the pistol's aim towards the celling.

"What the —" Archibald said, then grunted after Angela kicked in the back of his knees. She had him off balance now, kneeling with his arm under her complete control.

"My apologies doctor, you may start to experience some discomfort," She said whilst twisting the man's wrist with one hand and pushing on the outer elbow joint with the other.

"How the hell are you stronger than me?" Archibald said, groaning as Angela manipulated his arm further.

"I am still wearing my Valkyrie suite if you hadn't noticed. Do you know how hard it can be to carry, or even move a person when their unconscious? Naturally my suite is designed to grant me enhanced physical strength, superior even to that of your bionic limbs I am afraid."

Angela held her smile with a prideful demeanour, though on the inside she couldn't have felt more relieved. Restraining holds like the one she was using don't work on most people with limb enhancements. Military grade bionic arms can twist and rotate with a full three hundred and sixty degrees of freedom. Such augments can be cumbersome and unprecise, however, having not being designed to mirror natural anatomy. Thus they would be impractical to be used by surgeons like Archibald.

"Now Doctor, would you mind dropping your weapon before you hurt someone?"

"For your information, It's just a stun gun. I was not planning on killing anyone."

"Then drop it," Angela insisted. "if I have to twist this arm any further I'll be running the risk of breaking it."

In the end Archibald complied, allowing the handgun to fall from his fingers and clatter against the floor with a metallic clap. It was a small weapon, encased in white metal, with a core above the handle which glowed like an electrified sapphire. Angela was no expert on such things, so she didn't know if it was indeed a stun gun she was looking at. But what she did recognise was the symbol printed on its barrel, a white diamond floating above a capital V: the emblem of Vishark.

"Now then Doctor," Angela said. "I have a few concerns for you to address if you'd join me in private." She cast her vision about the room. People were watching and they looked worried, she could understand why.

"And here I thought you were a pacifist," said Archibald.

"When innocents are involved," Angela said, getting the doctor back on his feet. "I'll be whatever they need me to be."

She shoved and restrained Archibald's arm behind his back and pulled him into Oberon's room. She was in no position to pick the pistol of the ground so she kicked it into the room's corner. She locked the door by shoving Archibald's face into the touch panel with enough force to crack its glass screen.

"Talk."

"About what? How two people barged into my office, one putting a shotgun to my face, the other shoving a stun gun into my hands? Don't think you're the only victim here."

"I never think that," Angela said, doing her best to stay polite. "Now, who were these people your talking about?"

"I don't know. The one who aimed a gun to me was wearing a mask and looked about ready to start a war. The one who gave me a gun looked more professional, like a business man of some sort."

"Did they say or mention anything to you?"

"Yes! They told me to give up that patient of yours, Oberon right? They said that I either hand him over without a fuss or they'd kill me and get him themselves. That's it, that's all I know."

Running over the details, Angela glanced over her shoulder, spotting the pistol she'd kicked across the room and recalling the Vishark logo printed on its barrel. Was this weapon on Archibald's possession because a Vishark agent forced it upon him or was the doctor, in truth, an agent himself? And then there was Oberon to consider, how he tied into all this.

"What do these people want with Oberon?"

"Something about him being company property," Said Archibald. "I can't say for certain, they were vague about the details."

A person being considered property, threats of violence being made in a hospital: none of this was sitting well with Angela. All she wanted to do was help the sick and mend the broken. Now in one sudden change of events she felt as if her feet were planted on the precipice of a conspiracy. It was as if her history with Overwatch was repeating itself. Shoving its way back into Angela life like it was fate, not caring or thinking or even considering her opinion on the matter. But then again, what was her opinion?

She pondered that whilst deciding on whether to believe Archibald's story or not, then let out a deep sigh when her morals made a decision for her.

"What are you doing?" The doctor frowned as Angela released her grip on Archibald's arm.

"Believing you," she said. "now make yourself scarce, before I have a change of heart."

Archibald nodded and didn't hesitate in unlocking the door. "I see now why they called you Mercy," he said before running out into the hallway.

When the doors were closed, Angela felt her legs starting to shake, her throat beginning to ache and she needed to lean with a hand against the wall to catch herself from falling. She realised now what had happened. Somebody had just held a gun to her head. And within a hospital of all places. A centre of healing, a sanctuary of peace: the one place in the world to feel completely safe. Since when did the world become so dark?

Then there was the fact she defended herself, the fact that she had resulted to violence. For it was well within her power to disarm Archibald and go no further. But instead she went so far as to physically restrain him and even use intimidation to make him talk.

Perhaps it was best to refocus on the situation at hand. After all, if Archibald was telling the truth then whoever put him up to retrieving Oberon would be the ones to come knocking next. Which meant this room, and the hospital itself for that matter, was no longer safe. She went to the corner of the room where the pistol laid, hesitating to take it into her hands. She had made a promise to always choose the peaceful road over the violent one. But then she turned and faced Oberon, who was still sound asleep. Still an unaware innocent to all this. Angela had also made a promise regarding innocents as well: she'd be whoever they needed her to be.

Then at the door came a knock, loud enough to wake Angela from her trance.

Her hands grabbed the pistol without further thought and her legs, despite how they trembled with anxiety, carried her to the door. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she aimed the weapon and tapped on the door's touch panel.

It slid opened to reveal an unarmed nurse who saw the gun Angela was pointing and squealed.

"Sorry, sorry," Angela said, lowering her weapon right away. "I was expecting— don't worry about it."

"Y-your Dr Ziegler right?" The nurse asked.

"I am."

She took Angela by the hand and pulled her out into the corridor. "Please come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there, it's important." They started walking but halted when she saw Angela hadn't followed. "Please," she insisted. "It's not far."

It was clear that something had her agitated, something alarming enough to demand Angela's personal attention. Which could have meant a great many things, given recent events. Angela felt she needed to stay by Oberon's side. But the way the nurse was looking at her, gazing with panicked eyes full of worry, was impossible to ignore.

"Alright," Angela said. "I'll come with you."

They set off at a heightened pace down the corridor, the nurse leading a few paces in front. She was a tall woman, around about the same height as Angela, with golden locks of blond hair tied up into a long elaborate braid. In all honesty, Angela wouldn't say she looked like the type to get upset over anything minute. Her posture was strong and her movements were confidant, it was only her face which adduced anxiety about something.

"What's your name?" Angela asked, hoping some chitchat might relieve a bit of tension from the air.

"H-Harmony," she said.

"You have a nice accent, is it Belgium?"

"Its German. And thank you. Yours is nice too," Harmony said, her voice levelling out a bit.

"Now then Harmony, would mind telling me were—"

"We're here."

Harmony had lead them to the far side of the building, where she pointed towards a window overlooking the hospital entrance. Night had cast a shadowy veil across the sky, but the light of Numbani's skyline still lit up the streets below as if it were day time. What Angela saw brought shock to her eyes. There was a small army gathering outside, soldiers dressed in black, setting up perimeter blockades on the street and pointing their guns at anybody who came near. She saw the armoured trucks these militants had arrived in and knew what the symbol printed on them meant.

Talon, an organisation who Angela had become well acquainted with during her Overwatch days. What were they doing here?

"This is what you wanted to show me?"

There was no reply.

"Harmony?" Angela pulled her eyes away from the window to find herself alone. Harmony had disappeared.

Then over the intercom came a crackling static and the voice which spoke up talked in shouted whispers, like that of a spirit from the ether. "Attention Ladies and —" a wave of defining static cut the sentence to an abrupt stop. "Wait, is this thing on?"

"Just keep holding that button down sir," came another voice, quieter and more human this time.

"Right," the first voice said, clearing its throat. "Attention ladies and gentlemen, Reaper here. None of you know me and suggest you do everything in your power to keep things that way, or else you'll end up like my acquaintance here."

The next voice to speak up sounded familiar. "I've done everything you asked," it shouted in a panic. It was Archibald. "For goodness sake is this all really necessary for just one ma —" Static was not the one cutting in this time, rather the sound of an explosive discharge: the sound of Archibald being shot down by gunfire. Angela jumped, hand over mouth, heart in her throat and not wanting to believe she heard what she just heard.

"Stay out of our way or die," those were the last words spoken before the intercom was shut off.

Angela's legs were shaking again. A hand against the window was required for balance. She took a deep breath of the hospital air she loved so much, hoping to find some rejuvenation in its cool and fresh taste. In the window she caught her reflection. With white hair fraying and brown eyes bagging, the person she saw was in a terrible state. Was this truly a woman who could save anyone? Angela stared herself in the eye and nodded. Yes, Oberon and Harmony and everybody else in the hospital could rely on her: she'd do everything in her power to keep them safe. She smiled and her reflection smiled back.

A smile which was dropped when Angela noticed a figure was standing behind her.

She was about to spin around and meet whoever it was when a thunderous clap crackled in the distance and before her mind had registered what was happening, the window shattered.

"A close one indeed," came a voice. "I almost didn't catch it in time."

"Catch what?" Angela muttered. But then she saw it, a bullet larger than her thumb, suspended in mid-air a couple of inches from the centre of her forehead. It remained floating there for a few moments more, before dropping onto the floor. She backed off and turned away from the window, coming face to face with someone familiar. "Oberon?"

The man tilted his head to one side. "Oberon you say? Is that to be my new designation?" His lips stretched into a smile. "Yes, it must be! Thank you. I will be sure to start referring to myself by that from now on."

Angela opened her mouth to speak but was cut short when a different, louder voice shouted from down the corridor. A voice which came from one of several armed men dressed in black.

"Open fire!"

The corridor was lit into an explosive uproar of crackling machine gun fire. A gauntlet of erupting muzzle flashes was all Angela saw before she closed her eyes. Then there was nothing. No pain or cold embrace. Nothing but the sensation of her own breathing. She was still alive. Angela dared to take a peek at the world through one eye and saw a wall of bullets floating before her with Oberon at her side with his palm extended.

"The imperfect will be pacified." His voice was an emotionless monotone. Then with a click of his fingers, the bullets were awoken from their stasis and surged back to where they came from.

* * *

 **A/N: Week two wall of fame:**

 **\- Supreme bookworm**

 **\- Arg0s**

 **\- CrunchbiteNuva**

 **\- Deadlypen1**

 **\- Rage against the dying of the**

 **\- Ulquiorra4163**

 **\- vanitasREM**

 **Thank you all so much following**

 **\- Supreme bookworm**

 **\- Ulquiorra4163**

 **Thank you even more for favouriting**

 **\- And one last, special thanks to 'Rage against the dying of the' for the comment which was the best shit of all. :D**


	4. A Heart Full of Nothing

**A/N This is my favourite chapter so far. I wrote it whilst listing to different remixes of the undertale song: spider dance. That should probably give you some idea as what its about :D Enjoy!**

* * *

Crouched on a scaffolding platform, hanging from the roof of a skyscraper: it was cold. Cold of her to be out in the lush midnight air and complain about the wind speed. Cold of her to be surrounded by the wondrous city skylines and write it off as glare. Just as cold as it was for her to have cool blue flesh devoid of life, a conscious empty of emotion and a cold black heart that never beat.

Indeed, it was a cold existence to be the person called Widowmaker.

She peaked through the sniper scope of her rifle and frowned. Her target was somehow still standing, undeterred by a bullet that should have gone through her skull. Flight speed, bullet drop, wind direction. She was certain all these things were under consideration upon firing. Her crosshair had been aimed to perfection and her prey was right in the centre. A fly caught in her web with no chance of escape. Yet despite pulling the trigger and despite seeing the window scatter into shards: there was no satisfaction to be had. Her shot had somehow missed.

She suspected rifle malfunction. Her weapon was in no way simple after all. The Widow's Kiss she called it. It was a prototype attempt at creating next generation firearms, a unique gem gleaming with problems.

Super-efficient micro fabricators in the stock fashioned ammo right into the chamber. Low calibre rounds for rapid fire assaulting and high calibre rounds for semi-automatic sniping. Some might say it was two weapons in one.

Though the problem with this was bullet density. The low calibre rounds had almost none of it, otherwise the fabricators wouldn't be able to build them as fast. On the other hand, the high calibre rounds demanded a short yet annoying charge up period before each shot. And to fire them prematurely was like firing bullets made of glass.

If a malfunction was to blame, then the shape of her bullet could had been imperfect, causing her shot to go a fraction wider than normal. Either that or her aim was off, which had the same likelihood of finding a pulse on a corpse.

She ejected the power cell from her rifle and loaded a new one, hoping that would solve the problem.

"Widowmaker, you there?" Came Reaper over their com-link.

"I am," she said back.

"I've just lost contact with squad two. Give me an update on target locations."

"Let me see what I can see," said Widowmaker, clicking a button on the side of her headgear. A visor composed of eight powerful cameras shifted itself down to become a mask over her eyes. For a brief moment she saw nothing but darkness. Then the display flashed red and revealed a world through the vision of infra sight. A world where she could see anyone and everyone, regardless of how many walls laid between them. A world that was her doll house to observe how she wished, populated by little figures made of scarlet.

The visor ran through a scan cycle of the hospital, picking out two bodies of crimson. The male was marked as Target Alpha and the female was labelled as Target Bravo.

"I see them," Widowmaker said. "6th floor, west side. It looks like they're working together."

"That complicates matters. I am sending squads 3 and 4 to intercept."

"You may also want to — hang on, I am getting a proximity alarm."

Widowmaker peaked over her shoulder, seeing through the one way windows and walls, peering into the corridors and stairwells. Infra vision revealed there to be two men moving towards her position.

"It looks like I have company."

"Remember that we have a job to do," said Reaper. "make it quick."

"Naturally," she said, resting her rifle over her shoulder. "Widowmaker out."

She stepped over to the control panel of the scaffolding and held down the button shaped like an arrow pointed upwards. With a distinct metallic clunk, the platform's pully system sprang to life, lifting Widowmaker to the next set of windows a floor above. Through infra vision, she looked down and saw the two men entering the office she was just outside from. It seemed they were searching for her, which was a shame. For them at least.

If flies go hunting for the spider, then they best be ready to get caught in the web.

Widowmaker pointed her gauntlet, attached a grapple cable to the platform's guardrail and twirled the slack around her ankle. She kept an eye on the two men below, waiting for a moment where they both had their backs turned. The moment came and there was no hesitation, she hopped over the railings of the platform and let gravity take its course.

Her grapple ran out of slack in an instant and twanged tight around her ankle, leaving her upside-down like a spider hanging from its spinner. She let out some line from her gauntlet, lowering herself until she was perfectly level with the men who were searching for her.

Rifle ready, she waited for the two men to turn around and see her. For when they did, their expressions of shock and horror were delicious sights to drink in. Widowmaker licked her lips and squeezed the trigger, feeling her weapon's concussive kick, hearing its percussive roar. The muzzle flashed, the window shattered and her first target was blown of his feet.

"Holy—" the second target failed to finish. Not before Widowmaker had shifted her aim and fired again, painting the walls with red splatters.

"Two shots, two kills," she whispered to herself.

It was then she heard the sounds of faint coughing coming from one of the bodies.

"Back up, send back up," a voice groaned.

Widowmaker found herself intrigued. She swung herself towards the office and released her grapple at the apex of her swing. Flipping and spinning in mid-air, she landed feet first with nothing short of acrobatic grace.

It was dark inside, with white metal walls reflecting the moon's light. Computers and monitors and desks and chairs cluttered the room, with a logo she didn't recognise branding everything. This was supposed to be an empty facility, abandoned and derelict, the perfect place to set up a sniper perch. That's what intel suggested. It made no sense for anybody to be here but her. So who were these two men she'd just killed?

She followed the coughing to a person laid out limp on the floor. His mouth was filling with crimson liquids and his hand was failing to cover a bleeding hole in his shoulder. She stood over him just to watch nature take its course. The man coughed and gargled and when he finally choked his last breath, Widowmaker felt nothing but the cold embrace of dissatisfaction. For these people were nobodies, insects that she could kill on a daily basis if it suited her. She longed to take lives which held influence over the world, lives which – when extinguished – would change everything.

Lives like the one of Tekhartha, her greatest kill.

She turned to the window and had barely taken a step before the room was flooded with red flashing light.

"Intruder detected, lockdown system engaged," said an artificial voice.

It was more than enough to spur Widowmaker into action. She ran for the broken window, sprinting at full speed, aiming to dive out into safety. But she was too late. Force fields had already stretched out over every window in the office, cutting her off. They glowed of bright cobalt and absorbed every punch and kick she threw at their shinning surface. Taking a step back, she readied her rifle on full auto and fired, spraying for the sake of it. All for nothing, for bullets had no effect on the wall of hardlight shimmering before her.

It seemed she was trapped.

Then as if her situation was not bad enough, her proximity alarm began picking up movement again. Infra vision engaged, she sighted a team of five stacking up at the doorway and was just able to hide behind a desk before they came storming in.

"Helix security agency, give yourself up!" one shouted.

Widowmaker remained silent.

"It looks like there's nobody here sir."

"What does the heart beat scanner say?"

"Sir, only five signatures detected."

"Including us?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright then, spread out and give the area a sweep. Don't drop your guard, the intruder could still be an Omnic."

Widowmaker kept infra vision active, watching the Helix agents divided and begin their search as individuals. They each branched out to different sections of the room, checking behind and under every desk they came across. They were fast, efficient and thorough. Indeed, there was a professional nuance about their movements. And it had been a while since Widowmaker had dealt with anyone professional, anyone who could pose a challenge.

A yearning to gun down each and every one of them, bullet by bullet, had started growing. It was a feeling in her chest, a tantalising tightness tempting her trigger finger. All she had to do was shoot one of them and the fun would begin. A four against one firefight in a confined space, what a challenge that would be.

"Another time perhaps," Widowmaker whispered, remembering Reapers words. There was a job which needed doing, and it did not involve starting avoidable gun fights. So instead she kept her head low and focused on getting out of the office without stirring any trouble.

It was a boring affair in all, skulking about behind desks, clinging to whatever shadows she could find. And with eyes enhanced by Infra vision, being able to see and know where everyone was at all times, elusion became a game of child's play. She shut off infra vision at one point, hoping the added risk would rekindle some of the tension. Though she found nothing stimulating about the risk of being discovered. For the sole thing that got her blood pumping was the satisfaction in spilling the blood of others.

In the end she slipped out the door without anybody taking notice.

"All too easy," she said to herself as she walked. The doorway had lead into a corridor splitting off in two directions and she'd decided to go left, seeing a sign which pointed out the server room to be in that direction.

"Widowmaker come in," came Reaper's voice over coms.

"What is it," she said, keeping her voice low.

"I need a scan of the hospital stairwell."

"Why exactly?"

"A member from squad 3 came running back to me, blabbering about some kind of nonsense."

"What did you do with him?"

"I shot him in the head of course. What would I do?"

"You could have shot him in the stomach, at least then you'd have a chance to savour the kill."

For a moment there was no reply. Then Reaper spoke up. "You're terrifying, you know that right."

"Coming from you?" Widowmaker frowned. She turned a corner and found some stairs, another sign reading ' _server room'_ pointing towards them. "I am flattered. Now what's this nonsense your talking about?"

"I don't know, something about a dragon? It doesn't matter. Whatever he was spewing about, it wiped out squad 3 in the stairwell. So if you wouldn't mind?"

"As much as I would love to assist you, I am afraid you're on your own for now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Turns out that intel was quiet wrong about this building being abandoned," said Widowmaker. "Helix are here and they have the facility on lockdown."

Reaper grumbled to himself before replying. "How are you handling it?"

"I am on my way to the server room now, I should be able to hack in and lift the lockdown manually from there."

"Then in the meantime, I'll see about finishing our job here _Personally_. Reaper out."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Week three wall of fame:**

 **\- Daughter of Ironman06**

 **Thank you so much for following and in reply to your comment: "I am so very happy to hear your enjoying it."**


	5. Merciless

"Who are you! What are you?" said Angela, shoving Oberon up against the wall.

"I do not understand," he said with a blank expression. "You just assigned me my new designation. I am Oberon."

Angela pressed the stun gun to his chest, not the most intimidating of weapons, she'd admit. But a heart shot at point blank range like this would cause some serious trauma and do far more than leave the victim stunned. As always, resorting to violence pained her a great deal. Even though the justifications to her actions laid spewed out across the floor gushing red. Oberon was still the last person she had expected to be turning a gun against tonight. Was she being too harsh? No. Angela glanced at the bodies of dead Talon operatives, seeing them riddled with holes dug by their own bullets. They had all died by Oberon's hand, after nothing more than a mere click of his fingers. If anything, she was being too lenient.

"Then who were you before you met me? What was your previous designation?" She lifted the stun gun away momentarily, then aimed it a scalpels length away from Oberon's face at eye level, hoping to instil some of the despair he had brought to the men he just killed.

"Before?" Oberon remained perfectly unfazed. "yes, I was subject 0 of the Omager project."

"Which was?"

"I do not know. Perhaps the other me knows."

"Omega project? Other you?" Angela frowned. None of what Oberon was saying seemed to be answering her questions. If anything, his responses were only further seeding her confusion. All Angela had to latch onto was what she saw Oberon do to those soldiers. It was good they wore helmets, less their faces might have haunted her forever.

"It's clear that you have concerns," Oberon said. "Are my explanations not satisfactory? I am sorry if that is the case."

"It's what you did, Oberon. What you did just now to

save me," Angela said, her voice growing quiet.

"Was my performance not satisfactory?"

"Performance? You've just killed five people with a hand gesture."

Oberon tilted his head to the side. "I do not understand your premise. Am I to kill at a slower rate next time? Yes, that must be it."

"No, that's not it," Angela sighed. "That's definitely not it." It was like trying to discuss matters of morality with a poorly programmed AI, one lacking any value for human life. "You shouldn't want to kill at all."

"Want?" said Oberon. "I do not understand this word."

That's when Angela found herself taking a step back and taking her finger off her weapon's trigger. Did Oberon truly not know what it meant to want something? She felt a needle of pity pricking at her heart, creating a pinhole for her anger to escape through. She opened her mouth, but words escaped her when she started hearing footsteps. They were coming from around the corner, loud and heavy and approaching fast. It was like a wake-up-call, pulling Angela out of her pensive state. Another group of Talon soldiers could be well on their way to finding her. Finding Oberon. Finding death. "We need to move," she thought aloud.

"Move?" Oberon said. "Do you not mean—" Angela took hold of his palm and started running before he had a chance to finish.

The corridors were empty with doors lining both sides, most of them locked, guarding rooms likely filled with innocent civilians. Angela could only hope her actions would work to their benefit, that Talon wouldn't use them to get to her. That they would all be spared from getting involved in any of this barbaric madness.

She squeezed Oberon's metal palm in her hand. Some way or another he was connected to all this. For some elusive reason he had Talon on his back, a reason Angela assumed held some relevance with his power to stop bullets. The same power he had used to kill five men in an instant. She could see how Talon would desire such power; how they would use such power. The thoughts and possibilities sent chills down her spine.

It was bad enough that she let one good person become a Talon puppet, she wouldn't let them have another. One Widowmaker was one too many. Though there was still a degree of uncertainty in the air. He did save her – twice for that matter – but he also showed himself capable of killing without hesitation. Two undeniable facts, painting two portraits of the man Oberon was. Which of these portrayed his true nature, however, was yet to be seen.

They ran onwards until coming before a pair of elevators and Angela tried calling both of them. Neither responded.

"As expected," she groaned. "They cut off power to the elevators."

"Did our objective align with these machines?"

"Yes it did."

"May I inquire as to what our objective is?"

"We need to reach the roof," Angela said, thrusting her hands into the gap between the two elevator doors. "I live my life on the move, travelling to wherever my aid can be provided. Because of this, I own a mobile lab which—" she paused, sucking air inwards as she exerted force outwards. "—is currently landed on the roof," she said, releasing her breath after having pried the doors open.

The elevator shaft was a narrow, cylindrical structure built of reinforced glass. Angela poked her head in and pointed her vision upwards. The hospital was fifty stories high and she was on the sixth. Seeing how much distance laid between her and the roof was almost dizzying. The shaft appeared to stretch on endlessly. If it were just her, she would spread her wings and fly up to the roof with little trouble. But since Oberon was here, such an idea was of course out of the question. Unless she was to carry him. But Angela doubted her suite could sustain such a flight. It seemed they would have to take the stairs. Or would they?

She backed away, diverting her eyes on Oberon, an idea coming to mind. "Okay," she said. "I have a plan."

"Is it a cunning plan?"

"I can't say for certain," Angela sniggered. "But I know it's bound to uplift our situation."

There was no reply.

"Get it?"

Oberon tilted his head to the side. "Get what?"

"Never mind," Angela sighed. She thought her joke was rather cleaver, that's what mattered. "But listen. The way you levitated those bullets back then. You wouldn't be able to levitate yourself by any chance?"

"Levitate myself? Yes, It's within the bounds of my abilities. Please observe."

Oberon turned his gaze to the floor, lifting both his hands but keeping his shoulders fixed. There came a subtle, droning hum which started buzzing about in Angela's ear. And then as if there were invisible strings tied to his body, Oberon's feet left the floor and didn't come back down. For a moment he was floating, suspended in a physics defying stasis. A moment that soon dissipated. The sounds of metallic shrills and explosive hisses were the sole warning, before Oberon's bionic arms erupted into a fountain of sparks. It was then, for the first time tonight, that his face expressed something other than blank nothingness. Pain. Oberon winced, scrunched his face up in agony and floated no longer. He fell out of the air and landing with a heart wrenching crack as he hit the floor head-first.

"Oberon!" Angela gasped, running to his side. She knelt down and inspected the damage.

His arms were popping and bursting with electrical surges, twitching and sparking. His eyes were closed and the white bandage around his head was leaking red. Angela put her fingers to his neck and found a pulse, then moved her hand up to his mouth and felt his breath. He was alive. "Thank heavens," she said, a small part of her able to relax.

She knew partially what had happened, prostatic limb malfunctions such as these were common in the past. Back when bionic limbs were new technology. They once possessed a tendency to buckle under the metal stress of human emotion. Like any other piece of computer hardware, they ran on logical reasoning. Thus they had to cope with breaking down the immense amounts of electrical information sent down from the brain. Dividing the logical input from the emotional feelings. Most of the time it proved too much for them. Such was why augmented musicians would miss notes on their key board or how Paralympians would constantly trip for no good reason after winning an event. Their bionic limbs would have become overloaded with the mental stress of raw emotion. That was then, modern day bionics had come a long way since then. Such malfunctions had become a thing of the past. Which begged the question. How much mental energy had Oberon been exerting for his arms to react in such a ferocious manner?

It was times like this Angela wished she had a portable brain scanner. For questions were hanging over her, like a hook baited with intrigue trying to catch her interest. But she knew there were far more important things to be thinking about. She needed to get Oberon back on his feet. That was her first priority.

Until the sounds of multiple clanking footsteps broke the silence. Angela shot up and looked down the corridor. If it was a squad of Talon she was hearing, then a matter of moments could be all she had. She needed to get Oberon out of the open.

"Be strong for me now," she said, placing the stun gun in her lab coat pocket. She scooped Oberon off the floor and turned for the room which was closest to her. Thankfully it was unlocked. In a rush Angela jogged across the corridor, elbowed the door's touch panel and waited what felt like a century for it to respond. The door slid open and Angela carried Oberon inside. The footsteps were beating in the background like a drumroll, building up to a surprise she did not want. After laying Oberon on a bed in the rooms centre, Angela ran back to the door and locked it shut as the footsteps arrived.

The room she was in held a degree of familiarity to the one Oberon originally occupied. Only this was a space meant for more unstable patients. So aside from the bed, vitals monitor and a metal stand for IV drips: there was also a couple of cabinets stocked with various medical supplies and a window peering into the corridor concealed behind closed blinds.

"Please don't be Talon," Angela whispered as she stepped up to this window. Pushing down on the blinds with a finger, she opened up a little spy hole to peek through and what she saw left her heartbroken. Five men stood in the corridor carrying rifles, their black armour contrasting with their white surroundings, one of them crouching before a small pool of crimson in the hallway's centre.

"No." Angela didn't want to believe it. In her rush, she must have forgotten to close Oberon's head wound. Because from that blood pool trailed off a line of red droplets that had traced her every step. It was going to lead the Talon operatives right to where she was. "No, no, no." Angela backed up from the window, stumbling, fetching the stun gun out of her pocket. There was no way they wouldn't see it; the hospital floor was spotless: blood would stick out on it like a wolf among sheep. A wolf which was about to give away her hiding spot. Angela glanced around her surroundings and saw nothing but walls. She was trapped. Backed into a corner, it seemed she was left with little choice.

Indeed, Angela would have to fight her way out of this one. And to that avail, she would need every advantage.

When active, Angela's Valkyrie suite grafted itself to her spinal colum, connecting with her brain and granting the ability to control her suit's functions through her mind. With a palm open wide, she willed vapour to be released from her fingertips. Shining a cool blue, it enveloped her entire frame, seeping into her body through the nose, the ears and even the pours of her skin. Billions of Nanobots made up this vapour, stimulant nanites, microscopic robots designed to inject combat enchantment drugs into the system. And once they were in Angela's system, the effects were immediate.

It came washing over like an itch, a desperate desire to get moving in any way she could. To run, to sprint, to jump, to punch, to kick. Every muscle in her body had gone tense, numb with strength, Angela felt ready to take on an army. She walked over to the IV stand and picked it up. Long, slender and made of steel, it could do as a make-shift staff. Angela gave it a couple of spins and got a feel for its weight. Yes, it would do fine.

Stun gun in one hand, stand in the other, she stepped up to the door and didn't hesitate. She hit 'unlock' on the touchpad and the door slid open, revealing a Talon operative who was standing on the other side. His gun hung over his shoulder and in his hands was a cube of plastic explosive. One meant for breaching locked doors. He stood before her, frozen stiff by sheer surprise.

"H-hi," he said.

"Bye," Angela smiled back, before driving her boot into his face. The operative went flying, soaring like a limp ragdoll before hitting the floor and sliding until his back hit a wall.

Spreading her wings, Angela launched herself into the corridor, immediately finding herself surrounded by the remaining four Talon operatives.

"Forgive me for this," she whispered, then lunged at the closest solider, spinning and swinging the IV stand over her head. She launched a flurry of blows. The first knocked away her target's weapon, the second shattered his knee and the third came around to strike the side of his head, sweeping him off his feet. Carried by momentum, Angela twirled, coming to face a different operative. She took aim, pulled the trigger and an electrified bolt of ironized energy left the barrel. It flew and buried itself in the soldier's chest, incapacitating him.

Angela kept herself on the move, flowing from target to target like a river rapid. She turned and saw one of them had his gun at the ready. The muzzle flashed and Angela strafed out of the line of fire, then darted at her new target, gliding through the air on golden wings. The gap was closed in an instant. She performed an acrobatic flip with a leg outstretched and brought her heel cracking down on her the man's scalp, putting him on the floor. Then she weaved her head to one side, noticing a slight change in air pressure as a clenched fist passed it by. Her retaliation came swift, the IV stand humming through the air. The Talon operative who had tried lunching an attack from behind suffered a spiteful lash to the face. Though somehow he remained standing. So Angela finished him with a stun gun bolt to the shoulder.

And just like that, it was over. Five bodies were reeling on the floor in pain and Angela was still on her feet, tears rolling down her cheeks, blood running down her leg. She checked herself over and found she hadn't come out unscathed. A couple of bullet wounds doted her lower torso: one in her hip, another in her gut. Nothing concerning, nor life threating. Angela's Valkyrie suite, with its restoration nanites, would have such injuries healed in moments. Indeed, she was feeling fine. Physically speaking. It was her mental condition causing her worry.

The things she had seen and heard tonight. First the death of Archibald over the intercom, then the murders she witnessed Oberon commit and now there was her own acts of brutality to consider. Why did it have to come to this? Her hands went limp, dropping the IV stand and stun gun to the floor. Couldn't she have found another way? There was little point asking that question now, she knew that. But still the regret came flushing through her body, sweeping away her strength like a great tide. She could tell the events of tonight were going to hunt her for many more nights to come.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling distraught and turned her back on the bodies which had been broken by her hand. "So very sorry."

* * *

 **A/N: week four wall of fame:**

 **\- Dabossman**

 **\- Smithdan**

 **\- Baileybubbles**

 **Thank you so much for following.**

 **\- JosXgamer**

 **\- Stewiebob4**

 **\- Kv2373**

 **Thank you even more for favouriting**

 **And an extra special thanks to Helpful Henry for catching a typo I made in chapter 4. (My proof-reader was punished severely ;)**

 **Also one last thank you to Rage against the dying of the for coming back with a comment that got me chuckling and left the widest of smiles on my face.**


End file.
